


fly away, so far away

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band), WayV | 威神V (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bcs I'm sad, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, I don't know what else to tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, References to Illness, Sad Ending, Sad Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, This Is Sad, kinda tho, the point is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22717765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mark is flying away. Lucas tries — with all he has — to make him stay.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: Anonymous





	fly away, so far away

**Author's Note:**

> a small and short, kinda-angst lumark because i said so.

The echoing sounds of beeping resonate through the still atmosphere, and with each passing seconds, Lucas tightens his hold onto the small hand in his palm.

It's early June, when the sun shines bright and the birds chirp merrily, cerulean sky with some small additions of fluffy white clouds. Summer has just started, joy and excitement filling the season with much hopes and fun. But not _here_. Not in this room, where everything is bland and stale, whites surrounding him all around like he's trapped in it. Not in this very room, where electronics are beeping and whirring to keep someone alive, where the smell of antiseptic and medicine is the strongest, where flowers litter around and carelessly thrown, where there is only silence — no laughter nor giggles, not even a whispered joke or just a calming smile.

Nothing in this room feels right, and it doesn't settle well in Lucas' heart. It grips and clenches, claws deep and leaves permanent scars where he can't reach. It leaves him breathless, aching for some kind of comfort that probably no one but one person could provide him. No one, none other than this one particular boy who sets his heart on fire and leaves a jar full of butterflies opened inside his stomach, fluttering and somersaulting. A special boy, with hands small enough to fit on his large palm, smiles so bright it rival the sun, dark eyes sparkling and swirling prettily like they're holding an entire galaxy, and merry laughs as contagious as the flu virus in the flu season.

A particularly special boy, who is currently unable to provide the oh-so-needed comfort, for he is now lying on the bed in front of Lucas, eyes drawn close peacefully and body so still and unmoving it's scary. There are a bunch of wires connected to his body, keeping tracks on his vital and showing charts that proves he is still alive _and_ breathing. An oxygen mask covers almost the entirety of his small face, but it doesn't hide the beauty of his face. It never does. His beauty is unparalleled, the unique and peculiar type of beauty that glows from deep within him. Even in this state of unconsciousness, he still looks the prettiest, the most perfect in Lucas' eyes.

Another beep, another passing second, and his hand graduallly loosens its tight grip.

The curtains are drawn, closed and dark and unmoving despite the strong blow from the air conditioner, and Lucas remembers how the special boy would always nag at him back home. _Why is it so dark in here,_ he would complain with a frown and a small pout of disapproval, and Lucas would only grin sheepishly on the cocoon of his thick, warm blanket. _Draw the curtain and open the window! Let the sunlight in to your, you vampire!_ And Lucas would laugh, happy and relaxed and so painfully in love, and pull the boy in his embrace. He would declare his love right then and there, would watch the way a pretty pink hue would spread beautifully on his cheeks and across his nose, would admire how that one particular boy stuttered his way out of his shyness and embarrassment.

A huge, heavy exhale escapes his mouth in an exhausted manner. Lucas keeps his eyes trained on the boy, heart going heavier and beating more rapidly. In surrender, perhaps. In concern, sometimes. In fear, always, all the time.

There is a knock, followed by the creaking sound of the slightly rustic door joints. Then, the door is closed, and a figure of a woman stands straight and tense behind him. He recognizes the pattern of the doctor's and nurses' visit, but he doesn't acknowledge the approaching woman.

"Mr. Wong," she greets, out of politeness with something akin to pity behind all the façade of professionalism. Lucas nods — a small, jerking movement of his head. Out of politeness, too. The unconscious boy in front of him better be proud of him just for this small achievement.

An awkward cough was let out, before the feminine voice continues, "Mr. Wong, the doctor has requested to meet you in his office to arrange the next treatment for Mr. Lee."

Lucas lets out a hollow laugh, eyes never straining from the _sleeping_ boy. His hands trembles and his mouth stretches into a thin line. He feels empty; they've done this so many times, yet the boy never wakes up. So many good news — which now sounds more like empty promises and bribes — but they never end up with what he has always hoped for. It's tiring and borderline irritating, how it seems like everything _and nothing_ works out for him.

Lucas doesn't respond, and the nurse sighs. Lucas never responds, but he would always go — either to quench his thirst for some good news that sounds like a salvation, or to hurt himself when he once again realizes that it will never work. He would go willingly, with hopes in his eyes and desperation on his face. But he knows, he _knows,_ that he would end up in an even more pain after the talk with the doctor.

After all, no doctors have yet to find the answer to his question, and he's running out of time.

* * *

The boy's name is Mark Lee, and his Korean name is Lee Minhyung. His birthday is on August 2nd, and he was born in 1999. He loves watermelon and fried chicken, but he doesn't like ketchup. His unique features are his seagull-like eyebrows, a small bump on the bridge of his nose, constellations of beauty marks on his face and neck, also foldable, flexible ears.

He knows other facts, other flaws and imperfections, bends and dips and bumps on his skin. But what he knows the most, is about how he wears his heart on his sleeves. He loves everything the world has given to him — no matter if it's good or bad. He's bright and warm and sticky sweet, like molten white chocolate with caramel filling that sticks on your mouth palate and stays sweet the entirety of a day. He's Mark Lee, the guy who loves everyone, and in turn, is loved by everyone. And most importantly, he's _Mark Lee_ someone who he loves so much and also loves him equally as much, if not more.

He had a deep, night-long discussion with Mark before this all happened. Before Mark fell unconscious in the middle of broad daylight, hands still holding onto their groceries and Lucas' big hoodie worn snugly. Lucas thought he was joking; he thought Mark was only trying to scare him. But it turned out, Lucas was scared for real. Mark was not joking, Lucas realized he would never joke cruelly like that.

 _"Please wake up. Cut this joke out, Mark Lee."_ He told him one day. He was tired and desperate and on the verge of giving up, dried tear tracks on his cheeks and fresh batch of tears pooled on the corner of his eyes. He demanded answers, but the only sound that replies to him is the beeping of heart machine and constant drips of the IV fluid.

He feels stupid. Such a fool, leaving his bright future in vain just for one unconscious boy with no verdicts of illness. If Mark were still awake, he would have scolded Lucas if he were to think of himself like that. But Mark is _not_ awake, and no Mark Lee is there to kick the negativity out of him and his mind.

Another resounding beep, but followed by a long line. Lucas breaks his hold, his eyes glazed over and his body numb. A flurry of white coats and drowned out yells, then black spots filled his sight. The reality seems so far away, and his vision blurs more as the seconds passed by — like he is drowning in a pool of his own tears and misery, trying to reach and hold and _keep_ only to lose what he's trying to hold captive of in a helpless heap of foolish hope and broken soul.

Mark is flying away, out of this cruel and merciless world filled with bad things he never deserved of. He's flying away, _fading away_ , leaving Lucas and his love to leave far, far away, where no mortals like Lucas could go, where only the purest soul like Mark — pure innocent soul who has gone from this world — could go.

He fades away in Lucas' strong grips, and while Lucas had tried — _has_ tried, and was still trying before Mark fades — with all that he has to make Mark stays, he still couldn't make him stay.

He fades and disappears into thin air, bringing majority of Lucas' feelings and entirety of his heart along with him, leaving Lucas empty and distorted and distraught and at loss, like an empty shell with no occupant. He fades, fades, _fades_ , like a puff of smoke blown to the sky, gradually disappearing and leaving no trace, not even the faintest whiff of smoke. But Lucas couldn't forget him, could _never_ forget him, even if he tries. Because a huge part of his heart has gone as well, the moment Mark flies away from his grasps.

**Author's Note:**

> talk with me pls i'm lonely :(  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/twistedonuts)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sweetganache)


End file.
